


Correspondence

by a_mere_trifle



Category: Ni no Kuni II: Revenant Kingdom (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Politics, US President!Roland, postgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23507686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_mere_trifle/pseuds/a_mere_trifle
Summary: President Roland Crane faces one of the biggest hurdles to his dream of world unification: the newly-elected President of Russia...
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Correspondence

**Author's Note:**

> Correspondence: the idea in magic that what happens on one plane affects all others. Also commonly phrased as "As above, so below".

\--

Roland straightened his tie, the one outward show of nervousness he could permit himself. He could, after all, pass it off as fastidiousness. But he was trying to alter the fate of a world, and this might be the most difficult barrier he faced.

His Chief of Staff didn’t think he could do it. His Chief of Staff was generally quite convinced he was insane, but today he was already breaking out the alcohol for the 2 pm happy hour he was entirely convinced they’d need. “It’s the Soviet god damn Union,” he’d said. 

“It hasn’t been the Soviet Union in years, Leo,” he’d pointed out.

“They’re still communists, Roland--”

“Socialists, which should make them more amenable to sharing, wouldn’t you think?”

“Roland, has the Cold War _slipped your mind_?”

“No, but--”

“You’re aware high schools used to teach Americanism vs. Communism?”

“Leo--”

“Red Menace?”

“We’ve got to try,” said Roland.

“You’re out of your god damn mind.”

“Yeah,” said Roland, “I know.”

But there wasn’t a choice: he had to try. He’d seen what happened on the sensible route, and he wasn’t going back again without a fight. Besides, this was probably the best chance in years. Petrov was a new President, young, known for his moderate international policies and his progressive policies at home. He was certainly more likely to listen than old Boris.

So here he was, on relatively neutral ground-- the Russian embassy in France-- waiting on an opulent-looking but uncomfortable leather sofa and trying not to wonder if he was being snubbed. He had a plan. He was going to talk about the practical benefits, the economic upsides, the silliness of holding on to their fathers’ ideological squabble. Both their countries contained multitudes. Roland was willing to make some sacrifices. And, if he had to… perhaps threats. But that was vanishingly unlikely to get him anywhere.

The door opened. “President Crane,” said the man who entered. Roland rose, proffering his hand. Petrov spoke English quite fluently, though he made no attempt to hide his accent. Why should he? It was nothing to be ashamed of, and the populace would likely be hyper-sensitive to any sign of betrayal from him. “It’s nice to finally meet you. A shame we could never arrange it before.”

“Inaugurations are busy times,” Roland said, with a smile. And Russia’s war-hawks were quite unhappy with him. Another reason this was happening so far away from cameras. “Congratulations on your victory.”

Petrov laughed. “It’s not a victory until it’s over. It’s hardly over.”

“That it isn’t,” Roland agreed. “There’s no such thing.” Or there wasn’t going to be. Not on his watch.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Has it been that kind of day?”

“I find it’s expected of me.” He poured himself a glass, with a self-deprecating smile, and something in the back of Roland’s mind took notice.

Petrov sat down, taking one sip from the glass, then setting it aside. “How are your reforms coming along?” said Roland. “I know from personal experience--” (Avoid the implication of corruption or kleptocracy--) “--that people can be resistant to change. Some people benefit from the way things are. Others just like knowing what to expect.”

“It’s difficult sometimes, yes,” said Petrov, “but it’s going. I admit to being more curious as to what brings the President of the United States to my doorstep.”

Of course he wouldn’t want to discuss internal strife with the Americans… but… something was...

“I mean, it’s hardly a social call, is it?” said Petrov, and smiled wryly. There was just the slightest hint of wistfulness in it, and something, something else, something familiar--

With that smile, Roland reconsidered his entire strategy in an instant. “I’d like it to be. We have plenty to talk about. But no. I won’t insult you by pretending this isn’t business.”

“So what does the President of the United States want from me?”

Roland took a deep breath. This was an absurd gamble, but at the same time-- “An ally.”

Petrov stared at him. “This is that Union thing they keep saying you’re talking about?”

“A Union of Nations,” said Roland. “A council of all the countries on the planet. To reconcile our differences. To negotiate treaties. To--”

“Run roughshod over the world, as America always does, as England her mother before her.” Petrov took a drink. 

“I don’t mean a sham alliance,” said Roland. “Not another toothless council. Not a cover for American imperialism. I don’t want veto power. I don’t want final say. I want a union of equals. Because I know that we are.”

“Please,” said Petrov. “No American in history has ever believed himself to be the _equal_ of anybody.”

Roland took no offense. There was something too wounded in Petrov’s eyes. “Well, someone has to be the first.”

“What’s your angle?” Petrov demanded. “What do you gain from this? Is this about the oil sands?”

“It’s not about the oil sands.”

Petrov fumbled for another explanation. “Is this about the next election?”

“I’ve got no intention of flouting the term limits, and you know as well as I do this is not simply going to be _popular_.”

“Is this about making me look a fool? Too young, they say. Too credulous, they say. Not Russian enough. Pull me in with a fairy-tale like this, have your CIA whisper in the right ears--”

“Why would I want to depose you?” Roland pointed out, logically. “You’re the most America-friendly leader Russia’s had in years.”

“Maybe there’s someone better waiting in the wings! Maybe you think you can profit from the chaos! How do I know why Americans do the things you do?”

“There isn’t anyone better,” said Roland, watching him. 

“Then it’s your _legacy_.” Petrov pounced on another potential motivation. It looked for all the world like the cynicism one would expect, but there was something a little frantic in it-- as if he were looking for an excuse, for a lifeline. “You’re old, you have your museum to think about, another toothless, pointless gesture will look--”

Roland handed him a sheaf of papers.

“What’s this?”

“The proposal. It’s not toothless.”

Petrov scanned it. “Congressional delegates?”

“The math’s tricky. There’s the tyranny of the majority problem too. I’m thinking population-based but with strict minimums on the number of delegates per country. We might also need to split up the larger areas by sub-region. China’s going to be interesting. Hong Kong is going to be a nightmare. Don’t get me started on Taiwan, Tibet… maybe just going by grid lines would be a better idea…?”

“International court?”

“Getting the world to agree on one set of laws would also be a nightmare, so that’s mostly going to be a project for the future. We’re going to start by having it be purely an arbiter for international disputes, as well as any matters nations agree to cede to their jurisdiction.”

“ _Universal nuclear disarmament_?”

“Mutually assured destruction isn’t working,” said Roland, “and furthermore--”

“You’re mad,” said Petrov.

Roland sighed patiently. “The challenges are significant--”

“You’ve gone mad,” said Petrov. “I should call the, the people who take mad people away. What do they do with them in France? I suppose they’ll have to escort you to the plane. Then they will ship you home, where you will be the Americans’ problem, and not mine.”

“It’s not madness, Mr. President,” said Roland.

“Why should I believe that? Why should I believe you?”

“Because you want it, too,” said Roland.

Petrov looked at him, blue eyes sharp with mistrust. Roland was pretty sure he was, in fact, mad, but he was going to follow his gut on this. “You want it too. You have no taste for pointless war. You have no love of posturing. You won the election because the people love you. You told them you want to make Russia a better place for them. But you want to make the world a better place for everyone. You’ve just told yourself that it’s an impossible dream. Years and years, everything you’ve learned, everything you’ve been told-- you decided it was beyond your reach, beyond anyone’s reach. Just like I did. You told yourself you would do your best for the people you had been elected to serve. Just as I did. You don’t believe that anything more is possible.”

Roland leaned forward. “But it is,” said Roland, “and you want it too. Just as much as I do. Even more.”

Petrov took the bottle of vodka again, then put it down, standing, pacing behind the table.

“You want a world where everyone can be happy,” said Roland. “Me, I just want to keep it from setting itself on fire. But they’re not very different goals. And they’re not unattainable. It will take time and effort, and make a lot of people very angry. It will be an incredible amount of work, and it will probably seem a hundred times along the way like an impossible, foolish dream we should never have given into. But it’s not. It’s possible. We can do this, if we work together. And if we don’t… everything might be lost, sooner than you think.”

Petrov looked at him. “Why the hell,” he said, under his breath, “am I even _considering_ believing you?”

_As above, so below,_ Roland thought, from his carefully obfuscated studies of magic. “Because you want to,” he said. “And because you know we can’t go on this way. No matter what they say. It’s not _sustainable_.”

Petrov looked down.

“I’m not asking for everything right now,” said Roland. “I know you’d be shooting yourself in the foot. You know this is just in the planning stages. All I’m asking… is that you listen. That you consider it. That you don’t dismiss and denounce it out of hand. All I want is a chance to earn your trust. I know that won’t be easy. There’s a lot of history between us, and it won’t just go away with pure intentions and noble words. It’s going to be a long, hard road, but the only way to get through it is to start.”

“To make everyone happy,” said Petrov, his eyes distant. “Where would you have heard such a thing? I haven’t had such a silly thought since I was a child.”

Roland was silent, waiting.

“...You’ll get your chance,” said Petrov. “When you inevitably betray me, I will denounce you and share the news of your madness and treachery across every media station I have access to. The entire world will know how you tried to wreck the stability of my country with your-- what is it-- pipe dreams. You will retire in disgrace and be shunned by all.”

“But I’ll get my chance,” said Roland.

“Yes, you’ll get your chance.” Petrov looked away. “Hell. Maybe I am as stupid as they say.”

Roland shook his head. “It’s not stupid to believe in people,” he said. “It’s the only chance we’ve got.”

Petrov gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re really serious about this?” he said, and waved the papers.

Roland nodded.

Petrov bent down, opening the door to the liquor cabinet. “Take this,” he said, passing Roland a bottle. “You’ll need it.”

Roland smiled. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

Petrov poured another shot. “ _I’ll_ need it,” he said. “The war minister will have my head for this. He’s already angry I’m even meeting you. But perhaps… perhaps it can be turned around.”

“You’ll find a way,” said Roland. “I believe in you.”

“Why the devil would you do that?”

“I see something familiar in you,” said Roland. “I think you’ll make an incredible ally.”

“And a worse enemy,” Petrov warned.

“That too,” said Roland, and grinned.

“Why the hell are you smiling like that? Go, go, before I have my guards call the asylum.”

“I’ll see you soon, Mr. President,” said Roland, bowing gracefully.

“Safe travels, President Crane,” said Petrov.

Roland slipped the bottle into his jacket pocket and left, nodding politely at the Secret Service agents who immediately fell in behind him. He waved farewell to the receptionist; he nodded at the guard who opened the limousine door from him.

Then the tinted door closed, and the engine started, and he dissolved into helpless laughter, setting his face into his hands.

President Ivan Timurvitch Petrov. Russia’s young, blonde, blue-eyed, idealistic new leader.

Roland wasn’t sure if this was evidence for or against the hypothesis that he had lost his goddamn mind. He’d stopped caring about that a long time ago.

What it might be-- all he was hoping it could be-- was evidence that it could _work_. It would take time, trust, magic, any number of battles against any number of dragons--

\--but hey, they’d done it before, right?

“Are you all right, sir?” asked the agent opposite him.

“I’m quite well, actually,” said Roland. “Thank you.”

They’d done it before. They’d do it again. And this time--

This time, there would be no fire. This time, they’d build a legacy they could both be proud of. A peace that would last.

A world where-- perhaps-- everyone had a chance at being happy.

\--


End file.
